


Days are Getting Shorter, Life is Speeding Up

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Autumn, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia’s favorite thing about autumn is the sudden cornucopia of everything pumpkin. Pumpkin patches, pumpkin pies, pumpkin carvings, pumpkin soups, and, most importantly, pumpkin spice lattes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days are Getting Shorter, Life is Speeding Up

**Author's Note:**

> wrote in about two hours. unbeta'd.
> 
> title from yael meyer's heartbeat

Amelia’s favorite thing about autumn is the sudden cornucopia of everything pumpkin. Pumpkin patches, pumpkin pies, pumpkin carvings, pumpkin soups, and, most importantly, pumpkin spice lattes.

When September twenty third rolls around, no matter what else is going on that day, Amelia’s ritual would begin. At ten minutes to seven, Amelia would cross the threshold of Bluebird Cafe, a local business that predominantly caters to the caffeine-junkies at UI Pontiac. Benny the shop owner, who Amelia’s known for several years now, knows exactly what Amelia wants without her saying a word. Instead of her usual order of an Americano, he or one of the employees just trying to earn enough money for food for the week would whip up a pumpkin spice latte. Amelia would smile and chat with them until her drink is served, and she’d tip more than twenty percent.

This September twenty third begins no differently than any other. Amelia wakes up, showers, gets dressed for the crisp weather, and locks the door behind her on the way out of the house. She waves good morning to her neighbor and best friend Daphne Allen, who’s having breakfast on her porch. Her car purrs to a start, and she’s off.

The university where she works as as a child care professional and Bluebird Cafe are thirty minutes away, accounting for the horrendous traffic that plagues the freeway this time of morning. No amount of traffic can bring down Amelia’s cheer, though. She exits with a slew of other cars and drives along the city streets toward the university. The trees planted periodically on the sidewalk have already begun to turn color and shed their leaves, and her tires crunch over the ones that have fallen in the road.

She parks in the employee’s lot of the university, but instead of walking toward the campus, she goes the other way, toward Bluebird Cafe. Her scarf and long jacket are blown in front of her by the wind. She marches on with one hand in her pocket and the other carrying her empty travel mug. The strap of her purse crosses over her breast, and the purse itself bounces against her hip.

Bluebird Cafe has decorated for the season since she last stopped by Friday morning. A string of ghostly lights illuminate the window. A tree and falling leaves have been painted onto the glass in varying shades of red, orange, and brown; the cafe’s signature bluebird perches in the tree’s bare branches. In the bottom left corner sits a large, fuzzy spider on a web. A trio of pumpkins painted with the face of jack-o-lanterns and wearing witch hats watch pedestrians stroll by.

Amelia pulls open the cafe door, and her arrival is signaled by the chime of bells. Like usual at six fifty in the morning, the only other person in the cafe besides Amelia herself is a pulp fiction writer who takes up the farthest table and the least comfortable chair in the cafe’s eclectic collection of seats. No one is behind the counter, so while Amelia waits for a barista to come by - more often than not she’ll get Benny or his perpetual morning-bird daughter Elizabeth - she asks Chuck about his novel in progress.

“They’re just about to meet a prophet,” he says, licking his lips and then bringing a dark cup of coffee to his mouth. Amelia wonders how many coffees he’s had since he last slept, whenever that was. “How weird is it that I see myself as the prophet, though? I can’t picture him any other way. It’s the weirdest thing….”

As Chuck trails off, a new voice takes over. Amelia recognizes the comforting drawl of Benny Lafitte. “You’ll be fine, I promise. If you need help, I’ll be happy to step up. It won’t be a problem. Oh!” Catching sight of Amelia, Benny stops. He draws down the brim of his hat as he nods respectfully. “Amelia. Time must’ve slipped my mind.” Amelia’s gaze moves over to the figure beside Benny. “This here is Jimmy, Bluebird’s latest initiate,” Benny introduces with a hand gesture. “Jimmy, why don’t you fix Miss Amelia up a pumpkin spice latte in that travel mug of hers?”

“Sure thing,” Jimmy says, and Benny gives him a clap on the back before retreating to the back.

Jimmy isn’t that much taller than Amelia herself. He’s cleanly shaven with sculpted lips and an even nose. As Amelia walks up to the counter, she makes eye contact with him and marks his piercing regard.

“Amelia,” Jimmy repeats, looking her up and down. Amelia gets the feeling he’s making note of her rather than judging her. She places her travel mug on the counter, and Jimmy takes it in large, square hands. “You wouldn’t happen to know a Sam Winchester, would you?” When Amelia shakes her head, Jimmy continues, “My twin’s boyfriend’s brother went out with an Amelia Richardseon a few times.”

“I’m not her,” says Amelia. She watches Jimmy move on the other side of the counter. Even if she wasn’t just told Jimmy is a new recruit, it’s clear from the lack of fluidity in his movements that he hasn’t been at this for long. That said, the way he moves is still handsome: he’s quite dynamic, and his fingers are deft.

“She’s a veterinarian,” Jimmy goes on. Then he shakes his head. “Or a vegetarian, I don’t remember.”

“Definitely not me then,” Amelia chuckles. “I eat burgers like nobody’s business.”

“Well, it is nobody’s business,” Jimmy retorts. He flashes a charming smile Amelia’s way, and Amelia’s heart melts like candle wax down to her stomach, which turns somersaults in Jimmy’s direction. “Unless you’d like to go on a date with me and make it mine?”

Amelia gapes at his forwardness. Not that she objects. She’s used to schmaltzy men pining after her for weeks, even months on end. She’s used to men hitting on her or catcalling her in the street. She’s used to men who claim to be her friend and get angry at her for turning down their romantic advances.

Amelia is thrown off her game, and all she can do for several moments as Jimmy finishes the drink is blink.

Looking up, Jimmy meets Amelia’s eye. He’s unperturbed by her silence.

“Yeah,” Amelia answers at last. Her cheeks heat up. She feels like a college girl again, freshly out of her conservative Christian parents’ thumbs and ready to mingle like so many of her high school girlfriends did. Brushing her hair behind her ear, Amelia says, “There’s a new place on Calliope I’ve been looking for an excuse to try out.”

Recognition passes over Jimmy’s features. His lips and tongue are very pink. “Gus’?”

“That’s the one.” Amelia nods. Jimmy places her travel mug between them and punches her order into the cash register while Amelia digs out the two dollars and fifty cents she knows her drink will come to and extra tip.

“Two-” Jimmy begins, but Amelia already has the money on the counter. She watches Jimmy try to suppress his surprised rising eyebrows in at the size of her tip.

“I’ve received exceptional service today,” Amelia flirts.

Jimmy grins back at her. He tears the receipt from the cash register, scribbles something on it, and hands it to Amelia. Usually, Amelia will throw her receipts away in the wastebasket at work, or they’ll sink to the bottom of her purse, never to see the light of day until she upends everything searching for her keys. This receipt, though, is special. Beneath the string of numbers reads _Jimmy Novak._  


“I’ll call you tonight, Jimmy Novak,” Amelia promises and smiles.

“I’m looking forward to it,” says Jimmy.

This September twenty third may have began just like any other, but Amelia knows the ending will knock her off her feet.


End file.
